


Lines You Can't Uncross

by HeartOfBellarke



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-07
Updated: 2014-12-07
Packaged: 2018-02-26 13:51:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2654345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HeartOfBellarke/pseuds/HeartOfBellarke
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which they learn the reality of "there are some lines you can't uncross".</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lines You Can't Uncross

**Author's Note:**

> Since I have procrastinated on awarding my Tumblr followers with fanfics, I've decided to make this several chapters! That means even more feels *cough* and pain *cough*. Hope you enjoy!

_"I found you."_

Clarke found it odd how three simple words could make her blood run cold and her stomach churn. It was hard for her to believe that it was, indeed, Finn standing in front of her - he was there but he _wasn't_ \- and when he stepped forward, she flinched. All she could do was shake her head, for she couldn't find the audacity within herself to form a coherent sentence. 

Finn went silent, and his quite blending in with the sounds of mourning that were currently creeping their way through the desolate camp. There were people everywhere, both the living and deceased, but all Clarke could see was a endless pool of blood. Nothing but blood. It felt like it was soaking through her boots, dripping from her hands, taking the place of the tears that were building behind her closed eyelids.

"Clarke..." he tried, his voice breaking and cracking yet no sadder than those grieving on the floor beside him. She soon recognized the sound of footsteps and forced her eyes to open - oh how she wanted to keep them closed - to find a desperate Finn inching toward her once again. Instinctively, she stepped backwards, her boots crunching against the hard soil as he extended his hand. Her retreat continued until she tripped, until her hands feebly grasped the air, until she had fallen atop of something that was definitely not the ground. It was soft yet rigid and still yet full of life. A _wasted_ life, that is. Clarke figured as much when her hands clenched at the fabric beneath her, liquid seeping onto her fingers.

She didn't have to look down to know what it was. It seemed cruelly fitting in a way. Now she had blood on her hands, both figuratively and literally. She might have laughed if she didn't fear vomiting the moment she opened her mouth. The only thing that came out of her was a choked gasp, and the only thing she could hear was the blood pounding in her ears. With every beat of her heart, she could picture another slain innocent - much like the one she was lying on top of - crumpling to the ground with a piece metal wedged into their chest. _Thud_. _Thud_. _Thud_. _Thu-_

"Princess." a deep voice cut through her clouded thoughts, watery blue eyes soon drifting up to meet saddened chocolate ones. Bellamy patiently outstretched a hand, his eyebrows creased with worry and gaze holding something that looked like pity. No, Bellamy Blake didn't do pity. Perhaps it was guilt, for he was the one who gave Finn a weapon in the first place, unknowing of the destruction it would reap.

But maybe that's what they did, her and Bellamy. They shared burdens. The burden of leadership, the responsibility to take care of the 47 delinquents currently trapped inside the torturous facility of Mount Weather. Then there was the burden of loss, but then again, every single one of them had lost someone since their journey down to Earth and even before it. Loss was a thing that settled differently upon their shoulders, though. They had already lost more than fifty of their people, people that they were responsible for, and it was a fact that Clarke still couldn't wrap her head around. That's where the burden of guilt kicked in, because _they were responsible for their lives_. The "you did good here"s meant little when weighed with the "you can't save everyone"s, but that has yet to stop them.

That's why she grasps his hand. That's why he hauls her off the ground with ease, because she seemed to have forgotten that she was lying on a dead body. That's why he gives her shoulder a tight squeeze and nods at her, his eyes telling her 'I understand' when words failed to find the two. That's why he pulls some spare cloth out of his pack and places it in her bloodied palm, but she knew it was useless; more blood would soon coat her hands if she wanted to try and fix the mess that Finn had created, because she'd be damned if she couldn't save at least one person. That's why Bellamy stepped in front of her, then, and moved his gaze to the younger man in front of him.

"I told you there were some lines you couldn't uncross." Bellamy ground out, and Clarke didn't need to see his face to know that his eyes were inevitably narrowed in accusation. They're wise words, she thinks, yet the advice seems to have fallen on deaf ears. Finn clenched his jaw, and Clarke selfishly wished he was done trying to explain himself.  One thing worse than standing amidst a landscape littered with the innocent dead was hearing an apology from the one who put them there.

* * *

Bellamy doesn't _really_ talk to Clarke about what happened until a few days later. It's not that they're avoiding the subject - okay, maybe they are, but only a little - he just can't find the words to say. Sure, there was the "we're at war, Clarke" and the "we've all done things", but those barely scratched the surface of his thoughts on the matter.

He spots her seated at one of the tables surrounding Camp Jaha's bar (which he'd been a frequent visitor of lately), her hand wrapped around a stubby pencil as she moved it across the map in front of her. There's something silver laid upon her wrist and the light catches it, causing him has to look away so the reflection doesn't _blind_ him. It's so fucking annoying, he thinks to himself, but then he realizes what it means. _It's her father's watch_.

He makes his way toward her, and she doesn't acknowledge his presence until he's plopped himself down on the chair across from her.

"Hey." is all she says, the sentence paired with a small smile, and he nods in response. They are silent for a few minutes, Clarke compulsively shading in the already shaded areas on her map (it makes her feel productive while being confined at camp, she claims) while Bellamy watches her movements, his eyes unknowingly straying to the battered accessory on her wrist. She catches him staring at some point, and in that moment, her hand stills. She worries her lip between her teeth and glances down at the keepsake, moving it around her wrist in circles for what feels like forever, round and round and round and r-

"I'm guessing Finn told you where we found it." he pipes up yet regrets it almost instantly. He had just unearthed two sore topics at once. Maybe it would have been smoother to bring some alcohol with him, that much he can tell by the way Clarke stiffens in her chair. He opens his mouth to tell her never mind, because _why would she want to talk about this right now_ , but she beats him to it.

"Yeah, he did. It came with a visual, too." she says, her last sentence a barely coherent mumble. The words made him clench his jaw, and if Finn was here, Bellamy's gaze could certainly burn a hole right through his head. Finn had caused Clarke enough trouble already, he was certain of that, but giving Clarke her father's watch _right next_ to the dead Grounder he pried it from? That was just bad timing...and yet another reason for Bellamy to punch him in the face. But no, Bellamy was - against all accusations- too civil for such an act, and 'you made Clarke upset' probably wasn't a good reason to do so.

"I'm sorry you had to see that." he replies in a surprisingly soft tone, and he's almost tempted to reach out and steady her still moving hand. She glances up at him then, and his hesitation about their conversation seems to dissipate as she lets out a breathy laugh. This is Clarke Griffin he's talking to; he should have known better than to doubt her.

"I've seen worse." He knows the sentence should sound grim, but it sounds anything but coming from her lips. It sounds more like a statement - one of bravery, at that. And even while he can see that her (and he would never say this aloud) captivating blue eyes are filled with sadness as they lock with his, he can't help but be reminded of why he calls her "Brave Princess".

 

 


End file.
